If You're Not the One
by Destiny's Creator
Summary: Long have Werewolves and Vampires warred between each other… proving disastrous to all involved. Three hundred years after Tommy Dawkins—unknowing of his identity—is the last remaining werewolf. His last fight will be the Day of Judgment for all.


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Title:  If You're Not the One 

Author:  Destiny's Creator

Disclaimer:  I do not claim to own "Big Wolf on Campus," only borrow to (ab)use their characters.

Pairing:  Tommy/Merton… heck and here's your warning: SLASH!  Don't like, leave now, simple.

Rating:  PG-13, for general violence, gore, and anything else my warped mind can think up…

Genre:  includes the Supernatural, Action/Adventure…Angst… and of course Romance!

Archives:  fanfiction.net and anyone else, just ask first please.

Summary:  Long have Werewolves and Vampires warred between each other… proving disastrous to all involved.  Three hundred years after Tommy Dawkins—unknowing of his identity—is the last remaining werewolf.  His last fight will be the Day of Judgment for all and he's coming dangerously close.  Will a sudden reunion with his best friend be enough to remind him and rekindle the last of humanity's hope?  Even if Merton can't exactly remember him either… it's a twisted tale of desire, ardor, and vengeance.

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"True immortality isn't about living forever.  It is about making the best of the time you have… when all is said and done what will your legacy be?"

-The Goliath Chronicles__

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Prologue:  Blood Bath 

_Rip.  Tear.  Shred!  _

_Rip.  Tear.  Kill!_

_Aethelwulf We have come for you._

_Aethelwulf We come._

_We come to rip.  We come to tear.  We come to slay!_

An ear-piercing shriek rose to carry through the air instant death to any mortal creature that listens… but no mortals dwelled here.  It _did_ bring with it pure, undiluted agony to the One who heard the call; but no, it would not kill Him at least.

But They could… _if_ They found him.

Fangs grinded together stifling a whimper, He willed all four exhausted paws to carry Him further away… with no avail.  Will alone was not enough and He no longer possessed strength enough to force His tired self faster, even _if_ His semblance of 'life' lay in the balance of abilities.  

He skidded to a stop as His chosen path forked in thrice-new directions; vigorously shaking His head clear of the impending.  He glanced left, then right, and then left again, sudden indecision freezing Him in his tracks.  He appeared to glare briefly down the right road, eyes flashing gold, before He attempted a most un-wolfish act… 

He leapt, into the breeze, four legs propelling Him to impossible heights, and landed at the nearest, thickest tree limb.  

He peered back considering a moment, checking if His plan took effect, before springing off to another branch, soon followed by another.  Behind Him, paw prints matching His own, and an easily traceable power signature, made their way in any other available directions.

With a bit of luck, just maybe, it would hold Them off… but that was probably too much to hope.  Still, here one cannot hunt by the usual senses, excluding by what sight and sound allows.  Above all, no scents left to track…

But yes, there could readily be pain.

Another bone-shattering screech and the very earth beneath Him trembled.  The trees—if indeed that's what they were, here one can never be sure— lurched forth beneath Him, startling a yelp.  He vainly tried to grab hold, but with claws made for slashing—preferably the blood of his enemies—_not_ for climbing, not at _all_.   

With a distraught howl, one most certain to give away His position, He dropped back to the ground—tumbling through layers upon layers of thorny brush and leaves during—and promptly ran.  Even though the fall was several meters high, it was no feat for Him; the barbs wouldn't even leave a scratch…  He had been thrown off cliffs multiple times before, would again…, _and_ survived.

But then, He always did survive; somehow, someway.

_Aethelwulf…__  We come, Aethelwulf…_

No, He would not listen.  Here the mind was in the greatest imminent danger… if so much as one took hold, They could gain control over his greatest advantage.

_We are here._

Eyes widened impossibly large at that, a gesture learned through the worst of human fears, as He turned back.  

Undeniably, They were there.

Anywhere else wolves have long died out of existence, but here they remained, roaming freely and fully empowered.  Six black ones sprinted after him, closing the gap far too quickly to qualify as 'normal' or 'ordinary' killers.  The forest around them became an indistinguishable blur but still they pressed on, eagerly approaching their prey, already salivating in anticipation.  They always hungered.

For as long as he could remember, Terror has chased him… but the appetite was not just for his flesh, like the insatiable desire of a rapist is not be quenched by lust alone.  

_He_ was the _only_ link left behind to the outside world.  If they devoured his very soul as they yearned for, one, if not all, could be set free.  _He _was the only barrier between them and their raging passions for violence… a simple obstacle to overcome, _the_ last line of defense.

He sincerely wished He could let Them catch up, just this once…

If only He _could _hurry up and die…

But He couldn't… immortality, a royal pain in the arse.

Abruptly, mind reeling in revelation, He backtracked through previous thoughts.

…Six?  He _had _only counted six…

So naturally, directly ahead the missing creature stepped out of the darkening shadows. 

Cut off, He prepared to flee by another course, unconsciously altering the surroundings as He did so.  

This world shifted, air became thick around Him, _almost_ unbearable…

He would lead Them as he did every night.  Across sand and plains, through bogged-down terrain… even flowing rivers, entire oceans of water never slowed the pursuit.  He had used every dirty trick in the book hitherto, adding some of His own personal touches… point being, He _had_ to find His way back.  Cross a portal over to the realm of humans, before They banded together and brought Him to His belly.

A searing pain tore through His side, a cross between a whine and a hiss escaped while he toppled over himself to the thankfully grassy undergrowth.  

  
He shakily rose to his feet, and upon realizing he was cut off, found no way or where to flee.  A gash, long and deliberate, marred his hindquarters; one he would allow to bleed freely for the time being.  A moment more and still he did nothing except stare, expression carefully blank, and gaze eventually resting on the circling predators. 

They had him surrounded.  Any emotional fluctuation or slightest movement on his part would trigger a direct attack.

And unless he could pull off something drastic, they had him.

_What's the rush Aethelwulf?_

The Soul-Snatchers sniggered quietly to each other of His shameful predicament, jibbing at Him within His own psyche.  

_Aethelwulf… _more joined in the chant, promised others soon to arrive at the gathering.

_Aethelwulf, why do you hurry so?_

Eyes leered at Him in His captivity.  Closing in, teeth taunted the inevitable by ripping painful chunks from His fur.  

They would certainly enjoy this.

He had no choice left but to bolt now or be lost forever.  Not necessarily somewhere safe—never any protection to be found—but somewhere He could prolong His chances of recovery… long enough in any case to leave this place behind. 

He was in too much pain for much concentration though.  Blood and anger tainted His vision red as He blindly shot forward to break an opening.  A swift thrust to his middle however and he flew, pitching backwards to land in the hard-packed dirt.

_Aethelwulf…please… for once stay and play with us…_

_Aethelwulf…We won't hurt you… much that is…_

_Aethelwulf…tell us your secrets…_

_Aethelwulf… where dost lie the Stone of Power?_

_Yes, Aethelwulf…bring to us Our Source of Power…_

He tried stalling, to ward Them off with low, intimidating growls of warning… but the blood loss was starting to take effect.  He could feel Them, slowly seeping into the edges of His conscious, to seize and break Him from the inside...  They perceived the futility of His attempts… and met such with excited, eagerly pleased yips.

_Hunters, _He cried to Them in desperate pleas.  Marauders, _Creatures of the Night… heed me now!  Once you thought of me as one of your own, your leader!  What changed?_

_You've since abandoned us, oh Great One, _the self-proclaimed Alpha stepped forth, sneering with evident disgust.  The bordering darkness swelled to merge with him; a pair of silver-glinting eyes alone was discernible. 

_It's high time for you to taste true betrayal…and Our wrath!_

The looming shadows threatened to consume Him with every passing breath.  These accusations were too much…  Towards His credit, He remained standing, refusing to show weakness for the sick satisfaction of _these_ cowards.

_We shall teach to you the meaning of damnation!_

A battle cry rallied, torn from the throats of each beast present.  The wolves charged as one to finish the battle…

_Leave be!  You…it was _you_ who all forsook me!_  Was His last snarl given as He saw His opportunity arise.  Unbeknownst to His ill-fated kin, a light appeared just beyond Them.  Blinded by rage and obsession, They could not bear witness as it temporarily provided strength enough for His return.  

The Gods in turn remembered their promise.  __

For a moment, he was tempted _not_ to take it… to end it all… finally…  

Yet ultimately, albeit reluctantly, He did chose so…

Purposefully, with influencing power borrowed of distant reaches, He hurled in a bound to the spiraling vortex that was his salvation.

Grays flickered by at an increasingly rapid rate; the trip making Him increasingly nauseous… or was that just the hemorrhage in His stomach?

Either way, it was a decidedly unpleasant jolt back into reality; the first thing He did was empty Himself of any meal previously eaten in the last decade or so.

He stumbled back, immobile with shock, and shortly returning to His humanoid-state as He did so.  Sweaty-hair matted together, wisps of sandy-brown strands sticking to a surprisingly youthful face.  A boy—no, young adult—of eighteen would be the initial guess of anyone to catch a glimpse.  In sad truth, however, He was aged well over three-hundred years. 

Putting a sufficient amount of space between Himself and his mess, He collapsed panting and heaving in a heap.  Blood spreading out beneath Him turned leaves and filth alike to a scarlet rug.

The Dreamscape, as it is termed, was an escape for human minds but adequately real for wolves.  Extinct—destroyed—though They may be, They lived on through the imagination and nightmares of others, waiting for Their vengeful prospect of return

…which was Him.

A living werewolf, the _last_ living werewolf on earth…_He_ held the key to their restoration…and the almost assured destruction of humanity.  

Their very existence sustained by _Him_.

So, stuck between a rock and a hard place, there was just one more problem added to make this scenario perfectly dismal.  

He couldn't die.

Groaning, He waited in keen, painful hope for the rewarding of a long night's elusion…

Yet before it came, snatches of past memory always emerged…

Mirth, laughter both_ pleased _and happy, reached His tufted ears though He couldn't recall a time or experience of such joy…

Someone, somewhere, would call out—He could never distinguish what the words were—but _to_ _Him_… and the tone, neither cold nor derisive, different somehow… friendlier perhaps… but _Him_ with _companions_?   

Impossible, the notion was altogether ridiculous…

Flickers of contentment, a time when life wasn't so bleak…  Maybe they weren't even His memories to begin with, but it didn't matter at any rate… not really…  

He _would_ forget this well before dawn's light, but for now… 

For now, it _was _his… for now he _did_ belong… somewhere… to someone…

He collapsed into oblivion, his only sanctuary. 

Slowly the wolf-form enveloped him again; the coat that would be white-as-snow, was dulled, disheveled, and seemingly stained a permanent crimson.

Presently there lay the Alasdair… theAethelwulf… once the Alaric over all the werewolves... 

But there was a time even before all this—long ago and forgotten—when he did indeed identify as somebody.  His name… was Tommy Dawkins.

Even if so, he can neither recognize nor ever realize it.

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A/N:  I had absolutely no idea whatsoever I was going to write this!  Completely random, out of the blue, haven't seen Big Wolf for years… and then this pops out of nowhere.  It wouldn't leave me alone until I typed it; already I have the next chapter started… just look at those plot bunnies run!  I blame it on reviewers from my other stories—which means I dedicate this to them too—they also have fics in this section and I guess I up and decided I needed one as well.  Besides, this could be fun…  I've always wanted to write a fantasy after all… okay encourage me someone please?

Lastly, I apologize if this was a bit corny—it didn't really turn out precisely as I planned—but moving on…

Glossary:

Aethelwulf- Old English "noble wolf" Alasdair- (Alastair, Alistair) Gaelic form of Alexander (Greek "Defender of Men") Alaric- Old German "noble ruler" 


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